


first feelings (are most natural)

by havisham



Category: Versailles (TV 2015)
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Codependency, Complicated Relationships, Kissing, M/M, Possessive Behavior, Sibling Incest, siblings to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-14
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:46:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22594264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: The most important things in Louis' life were thus: God, France and — a rather distant third, but still above all else — his brother, Philippe.
Relationships: Louis XIV/Philippe d'Orléans | Monsieur (Versailles 2015)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 62
Collections: Chocolate Box - Round 5





	first feelings (are most natural)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ancslove](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ancslove/gifts).



When they were still children and living together in the Palais Royale, Louis would often send Philippe little instructive notes on his conduct, behavior and development into an excellent son of France. They were all, invariably, signed _Papa._

Philippe would light such notes on fire and throw them down the stairs, which caused fright to the ladies and annoyance to the gentlemen. 

Louis would not to be deterred, however, and as the two of them grew older, he would always try to press lessons of caution and prudence on to Philippe, as any dutiful brother would, but Philippe would not attend. Philippe was so fickle and flighty, prone to such equivocal moods that he could not be allowed a place in the council. While it was true he showed promise in matters of war — what did that matter? A musket was invaluable too, but Louis would not seek the advice of one either. 

Sometimes Louis wondered what would have happened if he had been the younger brother, and Philippe the elder. He wanted to believe that France would suffer, that, naturally, they were both best suited for the roles that God had so graciously bestowed upon them. But what _if_? 

In the dead of night, some sliver of doubt still assailed him. 

Philippe was willful and proud — and of course he was, Louis knew his brother was his mirror, it was easy to draw out all the unflattering aspects of himself and see them reflected back at him in the shape of his brother. 

Louis was also willful and proud but his will was fortified by the will of God, and his pride was natural and right, for his country was great and glorious. 

His doubts were of no importance. In his heart, Louis knew that he had been chosen by God to serve the people of France. He had a higher purpose.

Always aware of that, Louis could not help but look at Philippe’s antics with a measure of envy. Philippe had almost all of the privileges of their station but was spared the crushing weight of kingship. And so why should he not sing? Why should he not dance with light steps? Why shouldn’t he act a fool? 

He was free in all the ways that Louis could never be. And if that was not bad enough, Philippe _wasted_ his freedom. 

Like tonight — there was a masked entertainment devised to introduce Henrietta to the court after she had been some time away and thus all eyes should have been on her glorious form. And yet Louis’ gaze, and much of the party’s too, was drawn to a tall but graceful figure in the middle of the room.

The dress was the height of the fashion and its wearer, truly fair, but Louis could not be fooled by the delicate mask that covered the upper portion of the dancer’s features. It was his brother, Philippe.

He had arrived at the party arm in arm with the haughty and handsome Comte de Guiche, but then had been summarily abandoned by his swain in favor of Henrietta — a fact that Louis noted with irritation. For all of Philippe’s faults, it could not be borne that he should be thus insulted. 

So Louis came upon him and took Philippe’s hand, delicately wrapped as it was in a velvet glove. Reproachfully, he said, “Brother, you make a spectacle of yourself.” 

Philippe narrowed his eyes, one shade of blue off from Louis’ own. He withdrew his hand from Louis’ grasp and said, “Piss off.” 

Louis took a breath and calmed himself. “You may try to anger me, but you will not succeed.” 

“I am not trying, I am doing it,” Philippe replied and took out his fan and fluttered it against his chest. Louis’ eyes dropped down to where his bosom would be -- but of course, there was nothing there. Philippe caught the direction of his glance and snickered, which annoyed Louis further. 

“You should look elsewhere if _that_ is what you seek,” Philippe said. He snapped his fan closed. “But don’t bother with Minette -- she’s almost as flat as I am.” 

“That is just as well,” Louis said spitefully. “The two of you may as well share dresses when you are married.” 

Philippe’s face fell, as Louis knew it would. Still, he marveled at the transparency of Philippe’s expressions, which quickly went from shock to sadness and shifted again to desperate bargaining. Louis was positive that his own face never showed so much. 

“Brother, you must reconsider,” Philippe said quietly. “She doesn't love me and I cannot love her. You know her affections lie elsewhere.” 

“Do you dislike her so?” Louis said, feigning surprise. He took Philippe by the arm and Philippe let him do it. Together they exited the stifling ballroom, looking to all the world like a pair of lovers taking refuge in the garden. The moon peeked out from a bank of white clouds and though they were in the heart of Paris, the serene atmosphere gave lie to that fact.

“No,” Louis said, answering for him. “I know that you do not. You love her, as we all do. Not many princes could say that they have known their intended for so long or so well. I met Marie-Thérèse on the day of our wedding.” 

“You’re being obtuse on purpose,” Philippe said bitterly. “You don’t care about either of us.”

“That is a wicked lie. I care -- Philippe, I will always care for you. Minette too has my love,” Louis said. “But you know that everything has already been decided.”

Philippe looked like he would protest, but Louis thought it would be better if they would argue no further. It was fortunate for Philippe that Louis was so fond of him, that he even attempted to reason with him, instead of simply commanding him as he could. 

The truth was that Philippe was beautiful and Louis was jealous of him -- in that his brother belonged to him, and Louis meant to keep him. He had been given to Louis by God as everything else had been.

So it felt very natural for Louis to take possession. He reached out and took hold of his brother’s chin and tilted his head down. They looked at each other unblinkingly for a moment, before Louis pressed a kiss against his brother’s rouged mouth. Philippe kissed him back aggressively, pulling them close together.

For a moment, they were intertwined together before Louis stepped back and composed himself, smiling. 

“Now go and be pretty. I will not get in your way, though I would advise you to choose a better partner.”

“I don’t need your help finding a partner,” Philippe said with a proud toss of his head. He glanced backwards once, as he tripped away, but Louis did not follow him. Instead, he leaned against a statue of Diana and sighed, the tension in his body releasing slowly into the cool night air. 

*

“I will let you keep the gifts the sultan left us,” Louis told his brother graciously as soon as he returned to court and was appraised of the happenings therein. “You deserve them, as I am told you acquitted yourself well, Brother.”

Philippe gave him a flat, but not altogether humorless look. “Thank you. I am planning to make quite an impression with it.”

“Would it not be better to give it over to the weavers’ guild to see if they could reproduce look and quality? This is just a suggestion, of course. You are free to do as you like.” 

He braced for an explosion of anger, of accusations of disfavor, or all the expected reactions of that sort. But instead, Philippe gave him a look of pure calculation and smiled. For a moment, Louis considered the impact of Liselotte on his brother -- for all her candor and forthrightness, she did know how to _focus_ him. 

“I’m sure we could find a compromise. I’d keep the scarf, of course.” 

“Haven’t some of your soldiers been accused of snatching scarves from women’s necks in Paris? They were hung for their mischief, but still.” 

“Do you fear that I will have the same fate?” Philippe said mockingly. Louis took his arm and gripped it hard. After the intense phantasmagoria that had characterized his last few weeks, including his meeting with William of Orange, he appreciated the reality, the weight of Philippe’s arm. His face must have betrayed some of that relief because Philippe looked at him with little more concern now. 

“Not at all,” Louis said, letting him go. Bontemps had come in and indicated by his discreet presence that their time together was finished. Louis had many other demands on his time, after all. 

He would have to tell Philippe later his plans to throw him at William of Orange, and win the war for France. He knew it would please Philippe beyond measure, but just now, he was not concerned about pleasing Philippe. 

As he was leaving, Louis turned and said, “I have heard, Brother, that the Marquise de Montespan was seen exiting from your chambers. If you were anyone else, I would fear the worst, but as it is, I would just advise you to be careful.” 

He did not stay to gauge his brother’s reaction. The frustrated groan that followed him out was good enough for him. 

*

“Are we doomed to always be called to deathbeds where I must cry -- like a human being -- and you stand there, stone faced as gargoyle?” Philippe said morosely as they watched the Duc de Sullun breath his last, curled in Louis’ favorite armchair. 

“I wonder if you will weep for me when I am dead,” Philippe said after a moment of silence. He eyed Louis warily. “Probably not.” 

“Don’t indulge yourself to such an extent,” Louis replied. “If you don’t know by now how much I love you, when will you? You are my closest kin.” 

Philippe gave him a dead-eyed stare. “Indeed I am, since you just killed our father.” 

“No, my dear,” Louis replied, “we just killed our father.” 

At that, they both looked back at the pathetic form of the man in the iron mask, thus unmasked. The night was still young -- Bontemps had moved in a chest where they would have to take the duc’s body to his grave -- but it seemed vaguely uncharitable to do so right away. 

So Louis leaned against the chest and looked at his brother critically. “I do wonder why you took our father into your heart so completely, when you can’t seem to stand your own children.” 

Philippe wiped his face with a cloth and muttered, “I don’t see why I _must_ see them until they are capable of rational conversation. That hardly makes me a monster.” 

“You do not think you could provide them with some advice on living? Younger people take that sort of thing more easily.” 

Philippe looked at him wearily. “Do you think I -- or you, in fact -- would be good role models, at this moment? We’ve just killed our father.” 

“You keep harping on that. I think the issue is that you still long to be the beloved youngest child,” Louis said mediatively. “However you complained of neglect, I know you relished being the baby of the family.” 

“Sire,” Bontemps said. “If you would …” 

“Ah, yes, we must move the body. Philippe?”

Philippe gave him a dark, ill-favored look, but he did what he was told. Later, Louis saw him still standing at their father’s grave and marveled at that sight of filial duty his brother presented. He had not known Philippe was capable of such depths of feeling. It disturbed Louis a little to know what he himself was not.

Later, when Philippe slapped away Louis’ restraining hand and shouted something about Cain and Abel, something in Louis went still with shock. Philippe had never touched him in anger since the incident with the porridge. They tumbled to the floor, hitting each other, thrown back into their shared childhood. 

When Bontemps opened the door, Louis bellowed, “Keep the doors closed!” 

The door closed accordingly. 

Philippe was on top of him and laughed, his eyes wild. “I know I will pay for it later, but it is sweet to see you this way, Brother.” He leaned closer, so they were eye, nose to nose. They were so alike. They were so different. 

“Philippe,” Louis said. “Brother…” 

“Your heart is beating so quick, like a rabbit’s. Do you think I’ll kill you?” 

“Will you?” Louis asked, his eyes wide. He did not know why the thought of his death excited him so, but Philippe’s face twisted into a mask of disappointment. 

“You don’t believe I can.” 

“I believe you have hidden depths,” Louis said and he tried to sit up. But Philippe pushed him down again. Philippe was the one who kissed him this time, as an act of emotional revenge, or so Louis believed. 

Here, there were no masks or dresses to pretend away the implications of their actions. They were two brothers, two murderers, locked in a sinful embrace. Louis knew that God always watched over his actions, but he hoped for a moment when he was not observed. He would confess later, wrapping up his words so they meant something else. 

Philippe’s fingers were quick and clever and his mouth was red, biting to the quick. The whole thing was over before it could really start, but it still left Louis stinging with something that felt oddly like guilt, which was a foreign emotion to him. 

And just like that, Philippe abandoned him again and Louis looked elsewhere for reassurance. 

*

In the end, it was the two of them together, as it had been from the start. 

Louis had thought that it would have been so easy for Philippe to let him die, but he had not. “I realized at that moment that I might lose you, and I couldn’t let that happen,” Philippe said and Louis smiled, satisfied.

Though he did wonder if Philippe was lying, if he had finally realized how deeply his fate was tied to his brother’s and so he said all these things to soothe Louis’ wounded pride. 

If that was true, Louis would still forgive him. For all of this time had shown him that the most important things in his life were thus: God, France and — a rather distant, but still above all else — Philippe. 


End file.
